The Saga of the Swords
by The Sword Maker
Summary: Castaway is free...and he now has the journal. Left with only scraps of knowledge about the Swords, the Clan must find them before Castaway. Chapter 2 up.
1. Visions

The Saga of the Swords

Part 1: Visions

By

The Sword Maker

The_sword_maker_lives@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: Gargoyles is © Buena Vista Television/The Walt Disney Company. No infringement of these rights is intended and I seek no monetary gain through this story. Fred Saberhagen created the Twelve Swords and their abilities. I've modified the fate of the Swords and the forging, however. All else is mine, and may be used with permission.

Note: This story starts partway through the Goliath Chronicles. It is a continuation of my previous fics. (The clones never died.) This fic begins nearly a month and a half following my "Interlude." It isn't necessary to read it to understand this, but it wouldn't hurt! ::grins:: 'Sides, if you don't read my other fanfic, you won't see how I got Elisa and Goliath together.

In the darkness he sat alone. His body was twisted with age and old injury. With a trembling hand, he lifted a picture from his lap and placed it with great love on the small table next to him. In the picture, a young smiling couple was holding a baby. He remembered that day well. He also remembered the day they had been driving home from the park when a drunk driver had smashed into his car at nearly sixty miles per hour. His wife had died instantly, and their son had followed not long after. The injuries sustained in the wreck had left him nearly paralyzed for many years. Only the thought of what lay hidden in the basement of his home had driven him to endure the agonizing pain of learning to walk again. 

With a groan of effort, he stood, and grabbed his cane. Time passed, seemingly unaware of this man's labored breathing and efforts to reach the stairs to the basement. He took great care once he arrived at the stairs. There was no motorized chair here to lower him gently to the basement floor. It was nearly fifteen minutes before his feet touched down on the cold cement below.

Once there, he leaned against the wall for several moments, trying to regain some of the strength he'd expended. As he stood there, his gaze was drawn across the room to a strange box. It was five feet long, a foot wide and eight inches tall. A heavy lock prevented it from opening. The man took a deep breath then began to walk toward the box. 

Inside the box, an ancient power long dormant began to awaken.

Owen frowned and stopped his work of transferring the employees of a company Xanatos had just bought to more productive placements within the company. He looked around, as if expecting someone to be standing right behind him.

__

Owen? Did you feel that? The soft whisper of Avalon's imprisoned Jester was nothing new to Owen. But this feeling… He stood, and rapidly closed up his work. He had to get to Alexander. Owen had the distinct impression that a lesson right now would be a very good thing.

The man stood in front of the box, and fished a heavy iron key from a chain about his neck. For several long moments he looked at the key, brooding. It had always been iron. His grandfather had been adamant that whenever the lock needed replacing, or a new box purchased, that the box be lined with iron, the lock and key being forged from the same metal. He opened the lock and lifted the lid. Despite the fact that'd he'd not opened the box in nearly forty years, the hinges didn't even squeak. 

In the box lay a sword. The sheath was plain, unornamented black leather. The handle was black as midnight. The hilt, oddly enough, was brilliant enough to be pure polished silver, but somehow gave the impression that it was stronger than the best alloys. The pommel was the same silver color as the hilt, but it had an engraved symbol there. A white arrow pointed up along the sword, as though the pommel was the feathered end of a great arrow. The man gripped the sheath and lifted the sword from its place. He rested the point of the sword on the ground and took a deep breath. Then he took the sword by the handle.

In Manhattan, Owen Burnett froze in place. The feeling he'd had earlier had returned. And somewhere it had found a great deal of reinforcements. He broke into a run, suddenly gripped by an emotion that the Puck did not at first recognize. Then he did know what it was. And, driven by the combined terror of two beings, a pale human raced ever faster through the corridors of an ancient castle.

Power surged through his body. For the first time in nearly thirty years, he felt strong enough to run the mile. Run the mile? The man laughed. He could break all the world speed records with the strength that coursed through his body. His laughter faded, though, as he remembered what it was that had driven him to retrieve this sword. He looked down at it, still sheathed in that plain leather. With another deep breath, and steeling himself for what was surely to be a rush of power greater than the first, he drew the sword.

Owen stumbled and fell as a vision swept across his mind. The Puck stirred in shock, not quite believing what they were seeing.

__

The figure was gigantic. The humans gathered at its feet barely reached to its waist. On an anvil as huge as a bus, twelve glowing lengths of some otherworldly metal lay. Owen and the Puck struggled to get a better view, and found themselves gliding forward. 

A dozen swords were lying there, finished but for the quenching.

The man held the sword aloft, and marveled at the blade. He'd never seen it before, having honored his grandfather's wishes to not draw the blade. It was a strangely crafted blade, indeed. It was an inch and a half wide, and three feet long. Only in the last two inches of blade did it taper to a point. The edge was finely ground, but there did not seem to be any of the polishing marks evident in other blades the man had seen in his life. Something told him that even if he examined this blade with the most sophisticated instruments known to man, he would find no flaws. The oddest thing about the blade was that it seemed to be several inches thick. A unique mottled pattern of grays and whites made up the entire blade and the illusion thus generated made the sword seem far thicker that it actually was. 

The sword seemed to hum with suppressed power, and the man recalled the old legends about this weapon. After several moments of thought, he carefully leveled the sword and concentrated. The sword's sudden jerk took him completely off guard, but fortunately he managed to keep a grip on it. It dragged him around to face a new direction. The man smiled and noted the direction. 

He swore viciously, however, a half-hour later. He'd driven ten miles to get to this place and the direction was still almost the exact same. He would need to travel farther to get an accurate reading.

__

The smith reached out with tongs, and lifted the first sword from the anvil. One of the humans walked jerkily forward, as though he was a puppet being controlled. Seconds later, the two observers realized why. The smith lifted the cherry-red blade and shoved it down through the man's head along his body's length. 

Even though they were not really there, the stench of seared flesh assaulted their nose. Owen wanted to retch, even as the Puck came to the realization that they were seeing something that had been done in the dim past; a bit of history shrouded by the passage of uncounted eons. 

The giant being removed the quenched sword from the now dead man and gripped it in his hand, cutting himself on the blade, and allowing his own blood to permeate it. In a huge voice, he roared a name. 

__

Returning the finished weapon to the anvil, the smith picked up the next sword. Puck and Owen watched, in horrified fascination, as each blade was quenched in human blood and named. 

Before their non-corporeal eyes, the vision began to blur and Owen felt the knowledge begin to recede to the deepest recesses of his mind. Desperately, Puck and Owen joined forces to hold on to what they had seen.

Owen opened his eyes to find himself staring right at David Xanatos. His employer's eyes were filled with concern. Shifting his gaze to look beyond Xanatos, Owen saw Fox standing there, holding a crying Alexander. Dimly he came to the realization that he was propped up against the wall. Xanatos' voice forced its way into his head. 

"What happened, Owen?" Xanatos sat back and motioned to his son. "Alex starts crying and won't be comforted, we find you lying on the floor, twitching and moaning…" His voice died away as a buried fear decided to re-emerge. "Oberon isn't going to try to take my son away again, is he?"

Owen shook his head and held out his arms for the babe. Fox passed her child to the pale man on the floor, her expression clear. Fox was afraid. 

"Oberon will not return to take Alexander away. What happened was…was…" Words failed the majordomo as Alexander's mind forced its way past his mental defenses. _Bad-big-man!_ Owen stared at the child, shock and confusion shattering his normally stoic reserve. Alex had shared his vision!

"Why don't we go to your office, Mr. Xanatos," whispered Owen. "We have something to talk about." As the small group moved toward Xanatos' office, Owen glanced at the clock. It was still early in the afternoon.

Night was only an hour or so away where the man stood, alone. Now nearly a hundred miles from his home, he believed that he would be able to get an accurate triangulation. After a moment of concentration, the sword once more pointed off to the east. 

Carefully noting the direction, the man added a new mark on his map and drew a line off to the east. Seconds later, he sat back and glared down at the map. "New York," he muttered. "Who'd thought it could be in New York?" 

After returning the sword to its case and the map to his pocket, he got back in his car and resumed his trip. He needed to get to an airport.

Goliath winged through the city, lost in thought. When they had awakened that night, several in the clan had noticed that there seemed to be a hovering 'air' about the castle. For Goliath, his suspicions had been confirmed the moment that he saw Fox. 

Though Fox and her husband were becoming more like allies than simply people who weren't enemies, Lex and even Hudson on occasion were still wary of the two. But the usually steady and self-assured look that Fox had in her eyes had been shadowed. She'd been so worried about something that her mask of confidence was starting to slip. Goliath thought back to the night that Fox had hunted Lexington and himself through the city with the Pack. She'd not lost that confidence for one moment until the end.

Goliath drew nearer to his destination and thoughts of the castle and its inhabitants were banished from his mind. After tapping on the window, he entered and found himself immediately swarmed upon by the only person he could imagine being with. As if a prayer her name escaped his lips. "My Elisa…"

Across town, near the docks, Brooklyn and Broadway were mopping up some would-be smugglers. The two rookery brothers amused themselves for a few minutes by twisting the smugglers' own weapons into makeshift bindings. After using a nearby pay phone to call the cops, the gargoyle duo took to the sky again and headed off in the general direction of the park.

"Do you know why Goliath was so eager to go out and patrol tonight?" asked Brooklyn with a wicked grin. At Broadway's puzzled look, he clarified. "He passed out patrol assignments and took off into the night."

Broadway frowned and thought hard, then realized that tonight… "Elisa doesn't have a duty shift tonight! Do you think…" His voice trailed off as Brooklyn began to laugh. Broadway's eyes glowed faintly as he growled at his red brother. "You don't think, you know!"

The beaked second in command nodded vigorously as he banked around a skyscraper, his larger green brother right behind him. "I started getting suspicious about a month ago, when I realized that it'd been weeks since I saw Elisa hanging around the castle on her night off. Then on her next night off, Goliath went off by himself." Brooklyn's beak curved into an impossibly huge grin. "Every night off since then, I've been watching what Goliath does. He usually flies off pretty early and returns hours later, looking rather happy and smug at the same time, yet trying to hide it."

Brooklyn fell silent and let Broadway think as they flew. For his part, Broadway was grateful for the thinking time. He mentally kicked himself. In hindsight, it was so _obvious! _Goliath and Elisa had been acting a little strange ever since the Hunter's Moon, but then Broadway had been distracted by the realization that Angela wanted him to be her mate that he hadn't really been paying any attention.

"Who else do you think knows about this?" Broadway asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Brooklyn gave that some thought as he did a barrel roll. "Angela definitely. Remember what happened the night she came in wondering what _Yahub _was?" At Broadway's nod, Brooklyn continued. "Since we were all in the TV room, there would only have been Goliath and Hudson she could have been listening too. So Hudson knows, too." Brooklyn's beak formed an expressive grimace before he resumed his little detective's report. "Since Lex seems to have us all beat in the brains department, I think he figured it out some time ago, but as to when Goliath and Elisa became mates, I just don't know."

Broadway started to nod, then cut himself off as a sudden thought burst out of his mouth. "What would Goliath do if he heard us talking about him and Elisa?"

Brooklyn frowned suddenly, then shuddered. "Rookery duty!" the two chorused.

"Let's get to work, okay?" suggested Brooklyn, deciding that since they didn't have a rookery anymore, it was best not to tempt fate and find out what would be substituted for it.

Back at the castle, Hudson sat listening to Angela speak. 

__

"Kanagnanip oka as Avalon. Gna gnigan gnika agm nalugam ya anis PrincessKatherine_ ta Ligil-Agat _Tom_. Is _Goliath_ gna yatat-om, ta is _Demona_ gna yanan-om. Aritakan an oka as _Manhattan_, as _Wyvern_ omsim." _Angela finally finished the tongue-twisting mass of consonants, vowels, and gutturals that formed the gargoyle language. She grabbed her glass of water form the table before her and took a long drink to sooth her tortured throat.

She stopped, however, seeing the amusement gleam large in Hudson's eyes. Even his blind eye was laughing at her! She slammed the glass to the table as her eyes flared with a faint reddish light. "What's so funny?"

"Well, lass," the elder gargoyle managed between chuckles, "You did first tell me that you were hatched on Avalon. Then that the Princess and Guardian Tom were the ones who had the raising of you, or words to that affect." Hudson struggled to keep from bursting out with pure laughter. "That last sentence was, indeed, that you now lived in Manhattan, here in the castle. But when you were talking of true parents…" He stopped talking, and tried to hold in his laughter as Angela mentally reviewed what she had said. 

Mortification suddenly bloomed on her face. Unable to hold it in any longer, Hudson roared with laughter. Blushing furiously, Angela realized that she had used the incorrect suffix. _"-om"_ meant _your_, meaning that…

"You said that Goliath and Demona were _my _parents, lass," chortled Hudson, as Angela began to finally join in the hilarity of the moment. 

"I meant to say _'-ok,'_" she muttered, through her laughter.

"Next time you will," Hudson said encouragingly as he calmed down. "Now, on with the language lesson!"

Angela favored the elder with a prayerful look as she rubbed her neck. "Please, can we continue another night? My throat's nearly raw from all those sub-vocalized pitches that go with the words!"

Hudson sighed slightly, and sat back in his chair. "Very well, lass, but I expect you to be able to keep up a running conversation of basic greetings the next time we meet. You already know the words and appropriate respect markers, you just need to practice them."

Nodding her agreement, the lavender female slipped from her chair and stretched. Angela took a quick look around, taking in her surroundings. She'd been so involved with the lesson that she'd almost forgotten that they were in the library. After grabbing a book of her favorite poems from the shelf, Angela turned her steps toward the arboretum. 

Behind her, Hudson cleaned up the papers that he'd been using to help Angela learn her native tongue. It was a new experience for the old gargoyle, to teach the language to one almost an adult already. He sighed and went off to his little room in the west wing, to relax in his chair and watch his television. 

Arriving at the arboretum, the young female was rather looking forward to some peaceful reading. So when her eyes fell upon Fox and Owen in deep conversation, she was rather disappointed. Angela turned to leave, when sharp hearing caught the tail end of what Owen was saying.

"…the Swords were forged of some being of which the Puck has no knowledge," said the pale dual entity. "Just earlier, as the gargoyles were awakening, I felt the power again and had another vision."

"How much do you remember about this one?" asked Fox, her voice sounding rather shaky to Angela's ears. Goliath's daughter quickly slipped into the bushes, hiding herself. She was _very _interested in what the two humans were talking about, even though she didn't really understand it all. What was this about swords and visions?

"I saw the smith, again. Only this time, he had one of the swords in his hand and was killing people. Then he was attacked by a human bearing another sword…and the smith was slain." Fox gasped at that little bit of news. Angela risked a peek out to the woman; Fox's large green eyes were wide and fearful. "Then I saw many other beings, who were obviously kin to the smith. I believe they would have been as powerful if not more so than Oberon and all His Children. They too were slain, one by one, by humans wielding the weapons that they had forged."

Fox began to pace across the walkways, her heels _clicking_ against the elegant marble. "Were you ever able to remember what the swords were named? I can't shake the feeling that their names are as important as the swords themselves."

Xanatos' majordomo shook his head regretfully. Fox patted him on the shoulder, and told him to keep at it, and to let her or David know if Owen experienced another vision. Angela held herself as still as possible as the redheaded woman left the room. Now if only Owen would leave as well…

Footsteps echoed loudly in her ears, heading for the door as well. But these steps halted right beside the bushes concealing her.

Owen's voice split the quiet air. "Come on out; I know that you are there."

Angela slowly rose from her concealment, and joined him on the walkway. Owen looked mildly surprised. "I had expected that it was Lexington who had come in and listened."

The gargoyle shook her head, her long black braid flipping almost violently from side to side. "Lex is up in the clan's rooms, working on some new program." The two stood for several moments, silence slowly dragging out between them. Then Angela's voice cut through the awkward stillness. "What was all that about swords and visions?"

Owen stared at her for a long minute, his ice blue eyes betraying nothing of his emotions or thoughts. When he did finally speak, it almost was a shock to Angela. "That does not at this time concern the clan." With no further word, Owen Burnett turned and vanished through the door.

Left alone in the arboretum, Angela was as still as the stone that claimed her every sunrise. Her whispered voice went unheard except by the plants that surrounded her. "But it will, won't it?"

In a distant airport stood a man. He stood motionless in the swirling sea of people in the terminal, determinedly examining the flight schedules. Finally he located the one he wanted. His path then took him over to the airline's desk.

"Good afternoon, sir," said the man. His nametag said "Jason." "How may we help you today?"

"I need to buy a ticket on flight 2238 to New York," answered the old man. "Do you have any openings on that flight?"

Jason frowned slightly as he typed away at his computer, and said doubtfully, "I don't know, sir. That flight was looking rather full this morning when I check for openings. Ah ha!" His doubtful look was replaced was one of pleasure. "We have one more seat on the flight, sir."

"I'll take it," said the man as he passed his credit card over the counter. Shortly thereafter, he was seated in the plane as it lifted off and banked to head for Manhattan.

After hours in the air, the plane came to a gentle halt at a gate in New York. After retrieving his baggage and hailing a cab, the man leaned back in the seat and let the driver take him over the bridge into Manhattan itself. As they drove, a strangely lopsided tower caught the man's eye.

"What in the world?" The cabby glanced over his shoulder at the bewildered tone in his fare's voice, then shot a quick look over the bay before shaking his head a time or two.

"That's the Aerie Tower, home of the richest nutcase in the world," growled the cab driver. "Mr. David Xanatos bought that wacko castle years ago and had it stuck on the top of his corporate tower."

Shaking his head, the man in the back seat rested his head back and let the cab roll on, its destination a hotel on the island.

Shortly thereafter, firmly ensconced in a room, the man removed the sword and once more held it before him. After getting a new direction, he left his room and hailed another cab. Once he was checked into a second hotel, and noting the new direction, he carefully triangulated the location that the sword was revealing to him.

The address was that of an apartment building, not too far from where he was at that very moment, happily enough. The man glanced at the night sky, noting that he had about two hours before sunrise. Hoping that the object of his quest was a night owl, he sheathed the sword and placed beneath his trench coat. After making sure that the journal was in his pocket, and feeling rather absurd for acting like some hero in a cheap "swords and sorcery" novel, he left the hotel and headed to his next destination.

Elisa and Goliath shared a lasting kiss before reluctantly pulling apart. The slender woman settled her head against her lover's broad chest and sighed, drawing great comfort from listening to his heartbeat. 

Goliath gently brushed his talons through her hair as they sat there on her couch, reflecting again how lucky he was to have found her. Tonight had really shown just how much she meant to him. After sating their physical needs, they'd made their way to her couch and passed the hours simply relaxing in the warm glow of their love.

Goliath placed a kiss on her forehead and his deep voice rumbled out from his chest. _"Laham-atik, yahub-ok. Gawuh gnak sila as nika," _he whispered to Elisa.

Elisa raised an eyebrow and returned the kiss, with interest added. After pulling back, she fired back a rather arch reply. "Sweet nothings in my ear mean nothing if I don't understand them, Big Guy!"

Goliath had the good grace to look abashed, then he pulled he closer to him. "I said, I love you, my Life. Don't ever leave me." He smiled, his fangs glinting even in the dim lighting. "I would have added this too. _Yatamam oka gnuk alaw an ak as gnika yahub, isak gnuk silaa ak as nika, alaw an gnoka nahotsugak an yahumam. _'I would die without you, for I would have no wish to continue living.'"

Elisa felt a tear form in her eye and quickly blinked it away before clutching Goliath to her tightly. "How do I say you'd better not die?"

Goliath tilted his head to the side, and said, "_Id edewup gnak yatamam, isak id atik ayisnesapapam gnuk yatamam ak. _I added that you'd never forgive me if I did."

After trying several times and failing miserably to wrap the strange words around her tongue, Elisa gave up and settled for a language she did know. "Don't you go dying on me, Goliath; I would never forgive you for leaving me."

A knock at the door prevented Goliath from responding, and Elisa hauled herself to her feet with a muffled groan. After Goliath had concealed himself away in the bedroom, Elisa wandered over to the door, not even stopping to consider what she was wearing at the moment.

The man who had just been knocking was rather surprised to see a beautiful woman clad in a silk nightdress open the door. Her expression did not bode well for him, but if this was not the one he sought, then he was in trouble. "May I come in?"

The woman scowled. "I don't know who you are and you're asking to enter my home?" Her eyes flickered slightly with realization and she glanced down. "I'm not even dressed," she continued as she edged behind the door a little.

"I assure you, this is very important." The man watched as a multitude of reactions, all carefully concealed, swept through her dark eyes. While she thought, he waited, carefully etching her face in his mind. If she was the one he sought, then he would have to deliver his burden, and soon. If she wasn't what he needed, then she was the key to finding it.

"Why don't you come back some other time," she finally said, though the man had no trouble reading what she was really saying. She didn't want him to return. Sighing, he realized that he would have to take matters into his own hands.

In the bedroom, Goliath heard a muffled grunt and a shocked exclamation from Elisa. As the front door slammed shut, the lavender gargoyle sprang through the door to find a strange white-haired man pointing a sword right at Elisa. Huge wings flared wide, almost knocking over a vase or two as Goliath's eyes erupted with white rage. 

The man jerked slightly in surprise to see the enraged behemoth emerge, and dived out of the way just as Goliath's hand passed through the air that the stranger's head had just vacated.

"Pax!" cried the intruder as he dropped the sword to the ground. He lifted his hands above his head and stood still. Goliath glared at him for several long moments before slowly lowering his wings and allowing his eyes to fade. Elisa leaned down to retrieve the weapon he'd dropped.

Her hand had barely closed on the hilt when something happened. Elisa looked up, confused. She was no longer standing in her apartment. 

The raven-haired detective stood on a hill, surrounded by armies on all sides. As she watched in horror, the earth heaved beneath portions of the massed forces, swallowing hundreds of men. Over to her left, an unstoppable berserker waded through everyone he saw, their weapons never scoring a single hit as the sword he bore deflected every blow and sliced through heavy armor like it was tissue paper. A groan from behind brought her about. 

A man lay there at her feet, his intestines spilling from a gaping wound in his belly. Retching, Elisa fell back a few steps. Another man suddenly ran up to the dying warrior, bearing a strangely familiar sword. Elisa quickly looked around. She saw four - or was it five? - such swords near the hill on which she stood. Looking back, she watched in horror as the new arrival simply thrust his blade right into the heart of the dying man. She wanted to turn away, even though it was a mercy killing, but something seemed to have frozen her in place.

Before her astonished eyes, however, the man who moments before had been trying to put his internal organs back in place was sitting up. Seemingly of their own accord, his entrails pulled back into his belly and the wounds he had were healed. The man who had impaled him with the sword removed it, leaving no wound. As she gazed on the strange scene, the formerly dying man took up his arms once more and dove back into the fray. 

Elisa began to shake. This was too much! The vision shattered and she found herself in Goliath's arms, back in her apartment. The sword was lying on the ground still, and there was no sign that any time had passed. The stranger was staring at her, his gaze thoughtful. He nodded, then slowly removed a scabbard from beneath his long trench coat. After placing it on the floor beside the sword, he removed a leather book from his pocket and extended it to Elisa. Confused, she took it.

"Everything you need to know…" His voice suddenly degenerated into a coughing fit, and it was several moments before he was able to stop. "It's all in there," he rasped. A sickly smile formed on his face. "Don't worry about me, my fate will not be yours." Elisa and Goliath's gazes became quizzical, so the stranger explained in brief tones, interspersed with racking coughs the shook his whole body.

"I suffered grave injuries years ago in a car crash and have been dying slowly ever since. Wayfinder," and he gestured to the Sword lying at Elisa's feet, "gave me the strength to find the next Guardian." After another bout of coughing, and breathing hard at the effort it cost him, the stranger made for the door and vanished, his two observers too startled to follow.

Goliath was still for several moments, trying to fathom what had just happened. In his mind he replayed all that he had seen: an unfamiliar man pointing a sword at Elisa, then dropping it and the sheath before her. The book, which supposedly contained everything that Elisa would need to know. Know about what, though? Then leaving, just like he'd arrived. The large gargoyle shook his head, trying to ward off an impending headache, then turned to Elisa, who was obviously just as confused.

"I will follow him from the air and watch where he goes. Stay here." Elisa opened her mouth to protest but Goliath placed on talon across her lips before the words could come out. "Stay here," he repeated. Just before launching himself out into the night, he glanced back at Elisa. "He said that the book contained what you would need to know. While I'm gone, why don't you read it?"

Elisa glared at him, letting him know without words that this little "protect Elisa" routine wasn't sitting well with her, but she nodded. "I'll be waiting." 

As Goliath glided out on the nigh breezes, he reflected briefly on the volumes of undertones in her voice. She wasn't helpless, and he knew that, yet still he found himself in an overly protective frame of mind in recent weeks. He still didn't understand why. He'd not felt this protective of anyone in…Goliath nearly fell out of the sky. Desperately casting about, he managed to catch a rising thermal and let it push him up into the night. Could it be? 

Goliath firmly placed such thoughts in the back of his mind. Right now he had a stranger to follow.

Broadway and Brooklyn were just wrapping up their latest group of roving gang members when shrill sirens pierced the night. After insuring that the troublemakers wouldn't be out and about terrorizing the neighborhood, two shadows rose and took wing. Staying quiet and low, they zeroed in on the wailing sound of an ambulance. The rookery brothers came in low and landed on the roof of an apartment building that wasn't all that far from where Elisa lived. 

Peering over the edge, they saw an ambulance pulled up by a small group of people. Brooklyn could clearly see a man lying prone on the ground. It was difficult to tell from the height, but it looked as though the man wasn't breathing.

A muffled thump behind them had each gargoyle whirling, desperately bringing up spread claws and presenting brilliant white eyes to their new companion. Glares faded and talons were pulled back to be replaced with sheepish looks and chagrin. Goliath shook his head. 

"When looking over the roof you need to make sure that one of you is watching the sky. The Quarrymen are still out there, and if I had been one of them you'd both be dead right now."

Brooklyn nodded. "We know. There's something going on down there, though."

Grunting slightly, Goliath walked over to the ledge. "I will look, but I have to go, I'm following…" The leviathan's voice faded as he peered down to the street below. "I guess I'm not going anywhere after all. That's the man I was following."

Broadway and Brooklyn shared a brief moment of total confusion. "Why were you following him?" Brooklyn managed to spit out just before his larger brother.

The leader of the Manhattan Clan shook his head and slowly pulled back from the edge. Motioning them to follow, Goliath flung himself from the building, his wings spreading to catch the updraft. Had anyone on the street looked up, they would have seen two shadows take to the air and follow another, larger, form across the dark sky.

Elisa carefully shut the book. After placing it carefully on the couch, she rose and gingerly stepped over to where the sword lay. After grasping the sheath and several long minutes of careful maneuvering, she managed to sheathe the long blade. Elisa had barely placed it on the couch as well when her skylight popped open and Goliath dropped down.

"Our 'visitor' made it about three blocks before collapsing. Brooklyn and Broadway had drawn near to investigate, and it looked as though he wasn't breathing. I left Broadway and Brooklyn on watch above," Goliath finished as he caped his wings across his shoulders and walked to her side. Dark eyes took in the blade and the book that lay on the couch. "What did you discover?"

Elisa's eyes were troubled. "I'm going to get dressed. Then we're all going to the castle." At Goliath's questioning look, she continued. "This is only one of twelve such weapons. And they're waking up from a sleep that has encompassed eons." Fear flickered deep within her eyes. "If the Swords awake and are not controlled, there won't be a planet left to live on."

__

To be continued

Next: Part 2: Explanations and Complications

"The Swords have the power to shatter this world like a glass hurled at the flagstones of this castle!" 

-_Elisa_

"Dragonslicer was forged to slay dragons and like beasts. If that sword alone should fall into the hands of a fanatic like Castaway, no gargoyle will be safe."

-_Goliath_

"Excellent," breathed Castaway as he carefully opened a long box. Nestled within was a sword with a gleaming white hammer on the pommel. "Shieldbreaker, against which no weapon or protective armor can stand!"


	2. Explanations and Complications

The Saga of the Swords

Part 2: Explanations and Complications

By

The Sword Maker

The_sword_maker_lives@hotmail.com

Disclaimer:  Gargoyles is © Buena Vista Television/The Walt Disney Company.  No infringement of these rights is intended and I seek no monetary gain through this story.  Fred Saberhagen created the Twelve Swords and their abilities.  The Poem on the Swords and their powers is ripped right out of the first few pages of "The Book of Swords," written by the previously mentioned Saberhagen.  Mark, Jord, and the names of the Gods in question are all shamelessly ripped from the pages Saberhagen's works as well.  The final fate of the Swords is different in the books, as are a few details in the forging of the Swords - for instance, I kill all the humans that were used, while in the books, Jord does survive the forging - and the creation of the "Guardian" is all my idea.

Thanks:  I should have been putting these in from the beginning, but thanks much to Kimberly Towle who very graciously agreed to beta-read my stuff, and to Denigoddess for her encouragement and ideas (which have helped me past some really sticky parts in this series), and all you nice people who read my stuff!  Thanks again!

Now that all that's said, let's get on to the fic, shall we?  ::grins::

Previously:

            _The figure was gigantic. The humans gathered at its feet barely reached to its waist. On an anvil as huge as a bus, twelve glowing lengths of some otherworldly metal lay. Owen and the Puck struggled to get a better view, and found themselves gliding forward. _

_A dozen swords were lying there, finished but for the quenching._

_The smith reached out with tongs, and lifted the first sword from the anvil. One of the humans walked jerkily forward, as though he was a puppet being controlled. Seconds later, the two observers realized why. The smith lifted the cherry-red blade and shoved it down through the man's head along his body's length. _

_Even though they were not really there, the stench of seared flesh assaulted their nose. Owen wanted to retch, even as the Puck came to the realization that they were seeing something that had been done in the dim past; a bit of history shrouded by the passage of uncounted eons. _

_The giant being removed the quenched sword from the now dead man and gripped it in his hand, cutting himself on the blade, and allowing his own blood to permeate the blade. In a huge voice, he suddenly roared a name. _

_Returning the finished weapon to the anvil, the smith picked up the next sword. Puck and Owen watched, in horrified fascination, as each blade was quenched in human blood and named. _

"This is only one of twelve such weapons. And they're waking up from a sleep that has encompassed eons. If the Swords awake and are not controlled, there won't be a planet left to live on."

- Elisa

Part 2:  Explanations and Complications

Elisa paced the stones in the castle's Great Hall.  At a faint growl of protest from Brooklyn, she halted and fixed him with a glare.  "We're waiting," she growled, her voice clearly showing that she would allow no arguments.  

Gathered in the Hall was the entire clan.  Xanatos and Fox were over by the doors, speaking in quiet tones.  Broadway sat with Angela at the large table that had been set up in preparation for one of the parties that Xanatos occasionally had in the castle.  Goliath, looking no less irritated at the wait than Brooklyn, paced his own circle a short distance from where Lex, Hudson, and Bronx were standing.

All motion ceased when the doors opened and Owen walked in, two large winged forms right behind him.  Both were heavily muscled, and of a height with Goliath.  The first one behind Owen had a panther's black fur and face.  Right behind him was a striped beast, vaguely reminiscent of a tiger.  Elisa stepped up quickly to thank them for coming, though no one missed the obvious tension and mistrust that burned in the eyes of the two mutates as Talon and Claw caught sight of Xanatos.  

"I'm only here cause you asked me to come, sis," growled the panther-like mutate who had once been Derek Maza.  "And as soon as we're done, I'm leaving."  Claw, having been left mute from his transformation, merely nodded in agreement.

"I know.  But where's Maggie?" Elisa asked.

Talon chuckled faintly.  "She's teaching the clones tonight.  We take turns working with them to increase their vocabulary."

Elisa nodded in understanding, then motioned to some empty chairs.  "Please," Elisa said, "sit.  This will take a little while." 

Following Elisa's invitation, everyone in the Hall took seats at the table.  It came as no surprise to anyone when Talon and Claw settled themselves as far from Xanatos and Fox as they could.  Though he'd given the gargoyles their home and guarded them, the mutates didn't want anything to do with the man who'd manipulated them into becoming the creatures they now were.

The next two hours (all they had before sunrise) saw the unveiling of an intricate story.  The gathered gargoyles, mutates, and humans sat in near spellbound silence, listening as Elisa told them the tale that she had read in the journal.

In the dawn of time, powerful beings that styled themselves "gods" had enjoyed great sport with the mortal humans whose world they shared.  In furtherance of their amusement, they had ordered one of their number to create twelve swords for the humans to fight over.  Each sword was to be imbued with great power, which would draw all those power-hungry to seek the god-forged weaponry, and force those who desired peace and prosperity to seek the swords as well, to foil the plans of tyrants.

It was not long before the gods realized the error of their ways.  Their smith had done his work far too well.  When a furious mortal, driven by insane grief, seized one of the swords and lunged for the god who'd been tormenting him for some time, no one was more surprised than the god to find that he was dying.  After that, word spread quickly, and many humans sought the swords not to protect the peace or seize kingdoms, but to kill the gods who had tormented them with such strife for centuries.

When the last god had fallen, the humans turned on each other.  In the cataclysmic war that followed, each sword was brought to bear.  When the dust settled, barely two thousand people were still alive, and many of them were grievously injured.

"It was at this point," said Elisa, "that the Emperor made an actual appearance."

"Emperor?" questioned Xanatos.  "One of the human rulers survived the whole mess?"

Elisa shook her head.  "The Emperor is mentioned throughout the account, but always in a roundabout way.  Plus, there's the fact that according to Mark, the man who wrote this account, the Emperor had been around for a couple of centuries himself."

"Would this "Emperor" be one of the gods that Mark mentions, then?" came Hudson's deep voice.

All eyes found their way to Elisa as she fielded that one.  "Mark hated the gods, and that's everywhere in this record.  But he always refers to the Emperor with respect, and even writes that he himself was styled as a "Child of the Emperor."  Whether the Emperor was a god or not, he survived the war, and then did something that I think shows he was more than the gods – he sealed the powers of all twelve blades.  Mark writes that the Emperor told him that should certain of the swords ever come into direct opposition, then the world itself would most likely be slain by the collision of power."  The raven-haired detective scowled.  "Mark didn't write which ones, but he did write that the Emperor warned him that the sealing would be temporary, at best.  Since all but two of the swords were scattered across a battlefield that seems to have been the size of North America, Mark and his descendants devoted themselves to studying the swords they had left, trying to find a way to safely destroy them."

"If they were working on ways to destroy them…" began Broadway.

"…Then why hasn't it been done?" broke in Talon.  The panther mutate slammed his fist onto the table.  "They were working on ways to destroy them, right?"

Elisa sighed.  "The only swords they had were Coinspinner and Wayfinder.  Then there's the fact that after about five centuries of trying, and failing, to understand how the swords worked, they stopped trying.  And despite the sealing the Emperor laid on the blades, enough of Coinspinner's most annoying power remained to leave them with only one blade."

Elisa began to flip through the pages of the book, ignoring the questions flying at her for a moment.  Finding what she was looking for, she held up a hand, and then read from the record.

_"Who holds Coinspinner knows good odds_

_"Whichever move he make_

_"But the Sword of Chance, to please the gods,_

_"Slips from him like a snake."_

She looked up to the confused stares of humans and non-humans alike.  "Coinspinner would leave its bearer in the middle of a fight.  It's the only sword I've seen in Mark's account that seems to be really sentient.  He records that it slipped right out of his hands two days after the sealing and vanished into the ground.  He never saw it again."

"Much as we need to know of this," Goliath interrupted as he rose, "the sun comes."  

The gargoyles all followed their leader's example, rising and making for the battlements for the day.  Talon and Claw stood as well, and walked over to Elisa.  Giving Xanatos all the attention that he would a slime mold, Talon gripped his sister's shoulder.  "Should you find anything that we need to know, come on down to the Labyrinth.  I really don't like this place," he finished, faint electric sparks flickering in his eyes when Xanatos stood.

With no further words, the two mutates made for the door and vanished into the early dawn sky.  Elisa favored Xanatos with a level gaze as she also hauled herself to her feet.  In her head a debate raged.  Common sense won, however.

"Would you have Owen and Alexander look over Wayfinder?" she asked as she slipped the journal into her coat pocket.  

After he'd retrieved his jaw from the floor, and popped his eyes back into their sockets, Xanatos gave her a level stare of his own.  "Why?" His voice was blunt, having decided that this time, straightforwardness would be a better approach than innuendo and double-talk.

Elisa yawned, then started to walk toward the door.  "Owen's alter ego might be able to ferret out some more meaning from his visions through an examination of the blade.  Besides, I don't carry a license to tote big swords all over the city."  The detective cut loose with a sardonic laugh and paused just before exiting.  "I'm in enough trouble with the captain over the fact that I have the habit of trading in squashed sidearms."  The woman vanished out the door without another word, leaving behind some rather surprised people.  

Xanatos turned to Owen.  "I think you're due for a day off, Mr. Burnett.  Take today."  David took Fox's arm and vanished out the door after Elisa.

Owen turned to the sword, still in its sheath on the table.  _Let's get this over with, _growled the Puck uncharacteristically.  Owen silently agreed, and gingerly lifted the blade from the table and headed to the nursery.  If Alex was awake, they could get started right away.

The buzzing of her alarm woke Elisa from a beautiful dream of gliding with Goliath when she was gargoyle.  Groaning, she slammed the snooze button and tried to slip back into dreaming.  Cagney, though, obviously had other ideas.  With the inexplicable instinct of all felines, he was well aware that his human was now nearly awake enough to feed him.  And that was all it took to send twelve pounds of warm cat burrowing under covers to place his cold, wet nose right at the base of his human's spine.

Elisa nearly jerked herself into a complicated knot trying to get away from that cold touch.  Fixing her cat with a frigid stare and muttering assurances that yes, she would feed him and soon, she abandoned all hope of ten more minutes of peaceful rest.  

Staggering to her feet, she stretched.  After nearly overbalancing, she glared at the clock, which was cheerfully proclaiming the time as 4:15 p.m.  Stripping off her nightgown and underwear, she stumbled into the shower to try and wake herself fully.  

Forty minutes later, dressed in her customary jeans and black t-shirt, Elisa padded out to her kitchen (being careful to avoid stepping on Cagney's tail) and started preparing some breakfast.  Deciding to skip cereal, she started warming up the waffle griddle.  While waiting for that, she quickly beat up some instant waffle mix and filled Cagney's bowl with some chicken liver, then took a seat at her computer.  Noting the Internet searches on the Swords she'd left running all day had turned up nothing, she killed her connection with a mild curse.  Nearly nine hours of searching and it had turned up absolutely diddly-squat.

She opened up her word processor and stared at the most recent file she'd worked on.  When she'd arrived home that morning, she'd spent about an hour typing most of what she'd found in Mark's record into her computer.  She'd completed the history, gotten a poem that had circulated about the swords, and managed to get down some information on the powers of a few of the swords.  Sheer exhaustion had claimed her about that point, so she'd saved what she had and went to bed.  She grabbed a blank mini-disc and quickly burned the small file to it.  After stuffing the disk into her pocket, she turned back to the kitchen and started cooking her waffles.

Across the street, from the rooftop of another apartment building, a man in non-descript clothing stared through some binoculars.  On the ground beside him lay a large hammer.  With a smile of triumph, he grabbed his radio and called in.  

"Hammer 1 to Base, Hammer 1 to Base," he said, still staring through the binoculars at the raven-haired woman now sitting down at the table with a plate of waffles.  "I have visual confirmation of the target."

"This is Castaway," crackled the speaker.  The man nearly dropped the radio in shock.  "You were supposed to be in position well before dawn so that we could ensure that the target would not have gargoyle support when we attacked as happened last time."  The voice was suddenly soft.  "Where were you at dawn?"

"I – I –I was as-s-sleep," stammered the man.  "I failed in my duty."

"If the target leaves, notify us at once," ordered Castaway.  "I'm on my way with two squads."  Then the radio went dead.

The man placed the radio back on the ground and turned his attention back to the target.  Was it his fault that he'd been unable to stay awake after being up since noon of the day previous?  With a shudder, the man forced himself to remain focused on the woman.  Hopefully, he wouldn't be disciplined too severely for his error.

Elisa glanced at Cagney as the feline settled himself onto her lap.  Shrugging him out of her mind, she focused on a far more important task:  getting a piece of maple syrup-soaked waffle into her mouth without decorating her Levis.  Her efforts very nearly died a swift death when Cagney, with no warning, suddenly bristled and shot down from her lap, leaving claw marks in her skin with his haste.  She put her fork down and stood.  Before she could take a step, however, her skylight suddenly darkened.  Her eyes flashed up just in time to see a hooded figure jump over her skylight.  

Even as the skylight shattered under her unexpected visitor, several figures in similar garb smashed through the windows to her balcony.  Eyes wide, Elisa jumped back as her first visitor swung out a hammer.  She barely noticed a furry streak that was her cat exiting though her window in an attempt to escape the strangers invading his turf.

She quickly sized up the situation.  She could see at least six Quarrymen in her apartment already, and shifting forms outside told her to expect more.  All had hammers.  With a mental curse that she wasn't carrying her gun, she improvised.  

Grabbing her chair, she smashed her first guest.  Even as he fell, she snatched up his hammer and energized it with a swift motion.  Holding it firmly before her, she glared at her uninvited guests.  They traded a few glances, then energized their own hammers.  Elisa was just about to make a break for the door to get out of there when she caught sight of something:  on the other side of the room, on top of her computer, lay the journal.  With a brief prayer to whoever might be listening, she lunged for the first Quarryman.

Her suicidal-seeming rush caught the entire group by surprise, and was the only reason that three energized hammers didn't smash her at the same time.  Her first target was knocked back, the electric shock sending his muscles into spasms.  By that time, though, the others had recovered.  She barely dodged the first swing and parried, driving her attacker back into his comrades.  Darting quickly through the opening thus created, she grabbed the book and backpedaled swiftly for the door.  

Holding the journal in one hand, however, left her with a clumsy grip at best on her hammer.  Noting her poor defense, an eager Quarryman took a swing.  She managed to bring up her own hammer in time to deflect the strike, but the force of the blow knocked the hammer from her grasp, and the electric shock that slammed through her sent the book flying.

"No!" she cried even as she pivoted on her leg to drive one foot solidly into the groin of her attacker.  Her muscles screaming in protest, she actually managed to catch his hammer when his hands moved to more important territory.

"That book must be pretty important, Detective," drawled a voice that froze her in her tracks.  Looking over to the owner of that voice, she saw a well-built man in the same blue hood as the other Quarrymen.  

"Castaway," she whispered.  "But you're…"

"Behind bars?" laughed the Quarrymen leader.  "My loyal men broke me out early this morning.  I couldn't very well exterminate those monsters while in jail, now could I?"

Elisa gave the situation another quick look.  There were now a dozen Quarrymen in her apartment.  Two were down for the moment, but their friends were too many for her to handle.  Gritting her teeth in fury, she turned and smashed open her own door with the hammer and sprinted out into the hallway.  

When several of the Quarrymen moved to pursue, Castaway held up a hand to stop them.  "No, she knows this building well, I am sure.  Go down to the garage and find her car – it's a red and white Fairlane.  She'll probably use it to get away."  When no one moved, he glared at them.  "Move!"

Elisa ducked through the one of the rear fire doors.  Behind her, she heard the distinctive sound of the alarm that sounded when one of those doors was opened.  Her car would be the next thing that the Quarrymen would go after, she knew.  After sprinting down the alley to the opposite street, she flagged down a cab.

"23rd precinct, and step on it!" she barked, looking anxiously out the back window as the cabbie pulled away.  

As he weaved expertly through the early evening traffic, the cabbie shook his head in disgust.  Two really weird fares in as many days.  This may be New York, but it was still ridiculous.

"What do you mean you lost her?' snarled Castaway.  "How did you lose her?"

"She never went for her car, sir," answered one of the men smartly.  

Castaway ripped his hood off and smashed his fist into his desk.  He'd retreated to this new base shortly after dispatching his men to follow the traitor.  And now they'd lost her.  Dismissing the man, Castaway picked up the strange book he'd gotten from Maza's home and took a seat.  It truly was a strange tale that was written on these pages, and though it seemed impossible, there was something that made Castaway really think.  

For nearly two hundred years starting back in the mid-1300's, the histories of the Canmore clan indicated that they'd lost the demon's trail.  Not to be caught off-guard when they finally located it again, they'd become a wealthy family, some of them even reaching knighthood.  One of these knights, named Gregory, had been almost unnaturally skilled with the sword.  Though he fought in many battles with thieves and soldiers in a small war or two, he'd never been injured, and his armor had only been nicked once or twice.  

Castaway remembered his father telling him bedtime stories about Gregory, and how if they had found the demon during those times, Gregory surely would have slain the beast.  Now, though, two things had combined to give the man born as John Canmore new insight into his ancestor:  the record in his hands spoke of magical swords, one of which, called Shieldbreaker, had a white hammer engraved on the pommel.  And in the armory of the Canmore family seat in England hung Gregory's sword.  John had drawn it once, when he was much younger.  It had a strangely mottled-seeming blade, a silver crosspiece with black leather wrapped around the hilt…and a white hammer engraved on the pommel.

Having read what this Mark had known of Shieldbreaker's powers, the legend of Gregory who was never injured in battle made more sense.  The sealing that Mark mentioned was only supposed to be temporary, fading over time.  Castaway grinned.  Even if it had been bound somewhat during his ancestor's use of it, it was bound no longer.  The Emperor had indicated as much, when he'd told Mark that the sealing would slowly fade over time, and be completely destroyed should men touch the moon.

With a widening smile, Castaway made a call to a friend in England.  He needed a package sent, via International Priority Mail.

Morgan stepped into the precinct office, blowing the steam from his cup of coffee.  He nodded his welcome to several of his fellow beat cops and made his way up the stairs to where Bluestone worked.  Sadly, he had nothing to report on where the Quarrymen might have holed up.  And with what they'd done to Maza's place…

Her voice rang clearly through the place as Elisa vented her fury.  Even from where he stood in the door to the large room, Morgan could clearly pick out what she was saying.  

"…and so they all just pop into my apartment!"  Elisa's voice suddenly went too quiet to emerge from Captain Chavez's office, but Morgan knew she was probably demanding to know why she hadn't been notified the moment of Castaway's escape.  Making his way over to where Matt Bluestone sat, and noting the glum expression of a man who knew he was about to die, Morgan set his coffee down on Matt's desk.

"That's the best coffee you'll find in Manhattan.  Drink up," the beat cop ordered.

Matt glanced up at the big black man, seemingly surprised to find anyone there.  With quick thanks, Matt snatched up the cup and gulped half of it down.  "She's been in there for the last half hour.  When she's done with the captain, I'm next."

"Why would she want to rip strips out of your hide, Matt?" asked Morgan, feeling rather confused.  Matt's tired eyes locked with Morgan's.

"Chavez called me and told me that Castaway was out.  I was supposed to find him and get him back into custody, fast, and let Elisa know that he'd gotten out so she'd be on her guard.  But his boys gave me the slip.  I tried calling her several times but always got a busy signal—seems she'd left her computer online—and then they're all pounding down her door."  Morgan winced.  "Tell me you caught one of them, at least!  Or that you tracked them down to their latest base."

Morgan sighed, then passed a folder to Matt.  When the call had come through that Quarrymen had swarmed Elisa's apartment, Morgan had been one of the cops near enough to go check it out almost immediately.  He'd gotten there just in time to see several Quarrymen taking out their frustrations on Maza's car in a very pointed manner.  With the other five officers who'd pulled up moments later, they'd managed to chase off the hammer-happy nut-balls, but they'd lost them easily enough in the Manhattan traffic.  And there was the little matter of the Fairlane to consider.  Morgan had taken a few shots with the Polaroid camera he carried in his squad car, and radioed Matt to let him know what had happened to her baby.

At Matt's obvious reluctance to take it, Morgan realized something.  "You haven't told her, have you?  She doesn't know yet, does she?"

"Know what?" snarled a voice right behind Morgan.  The big beat cop immediately tried his hand at personal levitation and nearly collapsed in a heap at Elisa Maza's feet.  Morgan quickly noted that fire still flared in those deep brown eyes, and decided to get out of Ground Zero.  Her gaze bored a few holes in him as he beat a retreat, than focused on Matt's face.  "You sent a half dozen cops to my place.  What did they find?"  Her tone was no less angry than it had been when she'd stormed into the station, swearing under her breath about Quarrymen breaking into her apartment.  Matt took a deep breath and thanked heaven that he'd thought to put on his bulletproof vest.  When Elisa found out what the Quarrymen had done to her car…

Almost back to his squad car, Morgan could almost swear that he heard an outraged voice scream "They did _what_?"

The sun went down, and once more, ancient magic swirled, bringing seven stone gargoyles to life.  The clan found to their surprise that Elisa wasn't there to greet, them.  Owen was, however.

"There have been some complications," Owen began, then faltered, as the six pairs of eyes flared with light.  Complications were never good.  Repressing the urge to hunch his shoulders defensively, he continued.  "Elisa is in Xanatos's office right now.  She has some news for you."

Goliath immediately launched himself from the battlements.  The trio went right after, leaving Hudson and Angela to stare at Owen.  Bronx growled irritably and wandered inside, seeking somewhere to lie down.  

"What's going on, Owen?" asked Angela.  

"There has been a breakout.  Castaway is loose." With no further ado, Owen vanished into the castle.  Angela and Hudson were gone just as fast, heading for the office where the rest of the clan was gathered.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Angela heard her father whisper to Elisa as she came in.  Elisa nodded her head and squeezed Goliath's large hand in hers.  Angela turned her attention to the desk, where Lex was studiously tapping away.  The computer screen before him was filled with text. 

Elisa looked up at the clan.  "Castaway busted into my apartment.  He got the journal, and all we've got now is what I managed to type up early this morning."

"Guys?" called Lex.  "We all should be aware of this."  Tapping a few quick keys, he put his screen onto the larger display mounted in the wall.   Everyone gathered near.  "What Elisa managed to get typed up last night was stuff on Wayfinder, Dragonslicer, and Soulcutter.  Some of the other sword's names gives us hints as to what they can do-the poem helps out a lot there too-but these three, I'm glad she got down so we sort of know what to expect."

Elisa picked it up there; having typed it up she could remember most all of these three swords' capabilities.  "Wayfinder, we already know, finds paths to what the wielder seeks.  It can also be used to point a straight-line direction to what you seek so you know you're going in the right direction.  It won't give you a distance, though, so what you seek could be five feet or five miles from where you stand."

"It was this…Wayfinder…that the previous guardian used to find you, right?" asked Angela.  

Elisa nodded.  "Michael – that was his name – only knew what was in the book.  He'd never handled the sword before."  The detective shrugged and focused on the task at hand.  "Moving on.  Soulcutter cannot be used to kill someone.  Mark writes that even with a small portion of its blade bared, despair and hopelessness will overwhelm anyone nearby…eventually leading to their suicide.  Dragonslicer is the one I really worry about, though."

"Because of us, right?" came Broadway's gentle voice.  Elisa nodded, and ducked her head, trying to hide the sudden glimmering of tears.

Knowing that Elisa didn't feel comfortable speaking of this, Lex picked it up.  "Dragonslicer was forged to slay dragons and like beasts. If that sword alone should fall into the hands of a fanatic like Castaway, no gargoyle will be safe."

Elisa shook her head and blinked rapidly to clear her eyes.  "Xanatos, you have the descriptions of the swords.  Find them."

The man nodded, and left the room.  Behind him, the clan began to slowly file out, reeling a little from the impact of what was almost certain to happen.  Lex held back a little to walk beside Elisa.  The web-winged gargoyle had some ideas on what the other swords were capable of, and a way to speed the locating thereof. 

The moon rose high in the sky, eventually giving way to the sun.  Seven stone statues once more decorated the battlements of Wyvern.  Search programs and inquiries ghosted through the Internet, automatically hunting down the swords.  Using Wayfinder, Elisa and Lex had determined that most of the swords were rather far from Manhattan.  Only two of the Swords had seemed to be near enough for Elisa to get a slightly different direction by moving from one side of the castle to the other.

One of the Swords had given them quite a headache.  One moment, Wayfinder would be pointed northwest, and the next, due south!  A suggestion that that blade was Coinspinner was the only explanation.  

Since the Quarrymen had smashed everything in her apartment and turned her beloved red Fairlane into paperweight – Elisa herself wasn't sure which made her madder, the loss of all the irreplaceable mementos in her apartment or the destruction of her car – the detective was sleeping in one of the guest rooms.  

At three that afternoon, Elisa found herself drifting in a dream that echoed the vision she'd received that first time touching Wayfinder.  The warrior with the hammer-marked blade was once more devastating the enemy.  The dream turned nightmarish suddenly when the enemy soldiers in her dream suddenly turned into the clan.  In horror, she watched as Goliath and Angela were cut down with a single stroke, the swords they'd been using to fight back falling to the ground.  

Even as she was jerking awake in a cold sweat, across town, in an unused floor of an office building, Castaway was rubbing his hands in anticipation as a long box was placed on the table before him.  Carefully opening it, he breathed a rapturous sigh at the sight that greeted his eyes.  Nestled in black velvet was a sheathed sword.  The silver cross guard contrasted the black hilt in a way that sent shivers down his spine.  The pommel, the same silver color as the cross guard, had a hammer emblazoned thereon.  

"Shieldbreaker," he whispered.  "Against which no weapon or armor can stand!"  He lifted the blade from its resting place and carefully buckled it onto his belt.  Gripping its black hilt, he heard a distant pounding, nearly inaudible, like a smith's hammer on his anvil.  With a cold smile, Castaway turned to his waiting men.  

"We're part of the way there.  Let's get back to work.  There are eleven more swords to find."  All the men saluted and left, leaving Castaway to admire his new weapon.  How appropriate, he thought, that the blade I will wield against those cursed beasts is marked with the hammer!

A chuckle emerged from his throat as he sat at his desk and turned to his own searches for the swords.  The monsters that had killed his family for centuries would now get their due!

To be continued… 

Part 3:  Dragonslicer's Bite 

"Run!"  Goliath roared.  Behind the fleeing gargoyles came Castaway, laughing as he swung a sword with a curled dragon on the pommel.

***

Castaway smiled as he walked.  They'd evaded him for the moment, but the heartthrob from Dragonslicer guided him as he pursued his quarry.  Glistening on the sword's bared blade was dark blood.  "I'm coming for you, monsters," he hissed.  "Your blood already spills.  And I will spill it all!"


End file.
